


Glasshouses and Morning Cuddles

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Finally, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, John is a good parent, Lots of kissing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mind Palace, Morning Cuddles, Parentlock, Sherlock is a Good Parent, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You will have toothache after this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 03:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11638059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: John is his best friend and now... now John is more and Sherlock can't help but smile.





	Glasshouses and Morning Cuddles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ember88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember88/gifts).



> For Ambre, because she's amazing :D  
> Some more Parentlock. Help me, I can't stop... it's an addiction
> 
> English is my second language, so please bear with me.

Even in the moments between sleep and wakefulness Sherlock can't stop himself from making deductions. The angle in which the sun light falls into the room tells him its half past seven, plus or minus five minutes. Rosie is already awake in her room, but decided to stay in bed for a little longer. Even from here he can hear the quiet sound of book pages being flipped from time to time.

  
22°C in the room, but warmer under the duvet and pressed against a sleeping John.

  
Sherlock turns his head to burry his face in John's neck, taking in the scent of his skin and the fading traces of sage. John showered excactly twenty four hours ago, before leaving for work yesterday and he used Sherlock's shower gel instead of his own. Sherlock likes it. It makes people connect John to Sherlock, even if it is something unconcious for those idiots. Everyone should know that John belongs to him and that Sherlock belongs to John. John is his best friend and now... now John is more and Sherlock can't help but smile.

 

* * *

 

_Rosie fell asleep against Sherlock's chest, her small hands closed around the fabric of his shirt, her small mouth slightly opened as she breathed deeply. She had been awake until nearly ten, entertaining the whole room with her babbeling. Sherlock had concentraded only on her, despising the presence of Mike Stamford's dull friends. They were celebrating his birthday and John had insisted on Sherlock joining them. If it wasn't for Rosie, Sherlock would have faked a phone call from Lestrade just to get out. He felt the urge to so now, with his only source of entertainment asleep._

  
_John, his clever John, knew and with a nod towards his sleeping daugther said goodbye to Mike and the other guests. Sherlock held Rosie while John helped him into the carrier. She would be to big for it soon, but they prefered it to a stroller, especially in the busy streets of London._   
_Mike accompanied them to the door, his face reddened from the three glasses of wine and he hugged John. Once again, Sherlock was glad for Rosie, as the sleeping toddler kept Mike from doing to same to him._

  
_„Thanks again, for inviting us,“ John smiled, opening the door so Sherlock could step out into the warm June night._

  
_„Thanks for being here, mates. 'S been lovely to see you again. Let's go for pints some day, John.“_

  
_Sherlock made his way to the gate and onto the street, not witnessing the end of the conversation. John caught up with him as he crossed the street and they walked next to each other in a comfortable silence for a while, John's shoulder brushing Sherlock's arm from time to time._

_„Didn't expect for Rosie and you to endure the party for that long, to be honest. I expected a massive sulk from either one of you after half an hour.“ John smiled up at him._

_„Little Watson and I can keep each other entertained quite well. It's a pity she is still so dependend on her transport or we would have been able to stay longer. You enjoyed yourself.“_

_„Yeah.“ They stopped at a traffic light and Sherlock could feel John's body heat through two thin layers of fabric. Their fingers brushed against each other and Sherlock knew they stood too close for „just friends“._

_„Yeah. Was a lot of fun to talk to other doctors. Outside work, I mean. Max is a neurosurgeon. And a good one at that. God, the work he does on a daily basis...,“ John trailed off, shaking his head. Sherlock knew how much his blogger missed surgery, how much he hated the temor in his hand. On an instinct, Sherlock took John's fingers in his, squeezing them in sympathy. Dealing with the flu was not the same as cutting chests open or treating bullet wounds._

_„I mean, he's an arse. A real dickhead, arrogant as can be. Don't know why Mike wants to be his friend. Well, he's friends with us, so...“ They turn their heads to smile at each other. „But that Max guy is a real dickhead.“_

_„With an erectile disfunction.“_

_An uncontrolled giggle escaped John's throat and Sherlock couldn't help but to join in, only stopping as Rosie stirred agains his chest._

  
_Twenty minutes later, they reach Baker Street and only now Sherlock realized that their fingers were still intertwined and had been for the majority of their walk home. John 'not gay' Watson was holding his hand in public, not moving away, even as they passed Mrs. Turner's married ones. John greeted their neighbours, taking the one step to their front door as he fumbled for his keys with his free hand._

_„John.“ A question. An answer. A plead. An order._

_John turned around and dark blue met greybluegreen as they looked at each other in the dim light of the street lamps._   
_John kissed him. It had been a long time coming and still, Sherlock was too surprised to move. John's lips were slightly parted as he pressed them to Sherlock's mouth in short pecks. Once, twice and, after an akward grin, a third time. Soft fingers brushed his cheek, tracing the scar just above his cheek bone._

_„Let's go upstairs, yeah?“_

  
_Sherlock nodded, following his best friend inside and up the stairs. John's hand only left his when they reached the hall way in front of 221B. He helped John to free Rosie from the carrier and he watched as the doctor went upstairs._

_Unable to move his legs, Sherlock touched his lips. They were still prickling from when John's mouth had been on them minutes ago. Kissed. They had kissed and it had been the most natural thing, as if they had always ment to be doing just that. And they were. Ever since John had moved back in with Rosie they had been more than just friends, but Sherlock was too unexperienced when it came to sentiment to name it. It didn't need a name though, as long as they both wanted it. And Sherlock wanted. He wanted John. And now he had the ultimate proof that John wanted him as well._

  
_Sherlock didn't know what to do next. He had never kissed anyone who was as important to him as John Hamish Watson._   
_He kept himself busy with getting ready for bed, not wanting to akwardly wait in the living room for John to come downstairs. He brushed his teeth and took a short shower, changing into pajama bottoms and a grey T-shirt he had snitched from John years ago._

  
_He left the door to his room slightly ajar, so he would hear John moving around the flat and went to bed, thoughts racing, his pulse elevated._   
_John made his way down the stairs and into the loo. Sherlock listened to every little sound he made, the last one being the light being switched off, before the door to his room opened._

_„Sherlock?“_

_The detective made an affirmative noise, fearing his voice would fail him if he tried speaking._

_„Is it okay, if I.. can I sleep here? Just sleep? I...“_

_Sherlock lifted the duvet and John made his way towards the bed, slipping in beside Sherlock._   
_Their lips found each other againand the kiss was still tender, slow. They had all the time in the world, for once. They kissed and kissed and kissed and Sherlock felt dizzy with happiness. John was there to hold him, ground him._

_„Hmm,“ John hummed betwenn kisses, „This feels amazing. God, Sherlock.“_

  
_Sherlock smiled at him in the darkenss of his room, turning so he could rest his head on John's shoulder. Strong arms closed around him and warm lips brused against his forehead._

_„Good night, love.“_

  
_„Good night, John.“_

_It's as simple as that._

 

* * *

 

Sherlock smiles at the memory. He revisited it again and again in his mind palace over the years. It's saved in the vintage glasshouse, between a marble statue and the Papaver rhoeas, John's favourite flowers. All their kisses are saved here. They had visited a glasshouse similar to this togehter as part of a case and Sherlock had made it part of the mind palace, an unusally light place in his brain.

  
Sherlock presses his lips to John's chest and collar bone as he stirrs in his sleep, slowly waking up. Sherlock looks up at him, at the dishevelled hair and the deep lines on the still tired face.

  
John is beautiful.

  
The doctor tightens his embrace, pressing kisses to Sherlock's hair. „What is the love of my life smiling at in this ungodly hour.“

„Don't pretend you don't know what day it is, John,“ Sherlock mumbled, lifting his head to steal the first kiss of the day, ignoring the morning breath.

John giggles. „We're an old married couple now.“

„Not married, yet.“ Sherlock traces the bullet scar that brought them together.

„Is that a proposal?“

„Maybe.“

They kiss again and Sherlock moves his hands between John and the matress to grab John's arse, even as he knows they can't go further today, not with Rosie upstairs.

„God, if I'd know … before I kissed you for the first time, that I'd be with you ten years later, I would have been less nervous. Can you believe it? Ten fucking years.“

„Happiest time of my life.“

  
John kisses him again, his fingers in the detecitve's hair. „You romantic git. I'll have to marry you now. And soon, before Rosie is too cool to be our flower girl.“

  
“Don't you think it's too soon? Maybe we should wait another ten years.“

  
They giggle.

  
„Little Watson is making her way downstairs. We should get up.“

  
John nods and gets out of bed and into the loo. Sherlock misses his body heat and his hands are lacking bum now, but he also looks foreward to the anniversary breakfast. John bought eggs and beans yesterday and for once, Sherlock is hungry.

 

 

Sherlock helps with the dishes. It's his version of an anniversary present. Just as he drains the sink, he can here John clear his throat behind him. He turns around to find John on one knee.

  
„William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I wanted to do this properly and I had the ring for some time. So... do you want to be an old, married couple? Will you be my husband?“

  
Sherlock sinks to the floor and presses his mouth to John's.

  
„You romantic git,“ he mutters between kisses and there are tears (he will deny that fact for the rest of his life). Rosie is the one who hands him the ring, a simple silver band and she hugs them both (she's not too cool for that yet).

„Yes, I will marry you, John. And little Watson-Holmes can be our flower girl.“

  
After ten years, they have a name. Fiancé.

 

 

[The Glasshouse in the Mind Palace](https://www.pinterest.de/pin/517351075919905000/)

[papaver rhoeas](https://www.pinterest.de/pin/602708362601551901/)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my mind for a while. Hope you liked it :D


End file.
